locomotion, and finally adopting a mincing step of airy lightness, which
seemed somewhat to pacify his fretful footgear, albeit he was pinched no
whit less severely.
"Confoundedly hot in these high collars," Teddie grumbled, as he
unfolded a snowy handkerchief and dabbed his moist brow. Immediately
there was wafted upon the air the scent of lavender.
Hugh and Gerald regarded their brother in some severity, not unmixed
with envy, in that they had neglected to make this elegant addition to
their own toilets. "By Jove, Teddie," Gerald expostulated, "you must
have literally soused that handkerchief."
"It is a bit damp," Teddie acknowledged composedly, "Comes in very
refreshing."
Pursuing the winding paths in as direct a line as the topographical
possibilities of the wood admitted, they at length came upon a large
lawn that skirted the trees and lay smooth and green before the shady
verandah of the south side of the house. Several long, low cane chairs
stood invitingly about the verandah, and upon one of these, stretched at
full length, in utter and complete comfort, was Paul Charteris, in loose
white flannel garb, a cigar between his lips, a novel in his hand.
He sprang to his feet with an exclamation of welcome as Gerald, Hugh,
and Teddie made their appearance across the lawn.
"Now, you fellows, just make yourselves comfortable and cool off," Paul
said in amused compassion, as he marked the heated condition of the
trio, and his quick glance took stock of the unsuitability of their
habiliments. "I will look up Jackson, and ask for something to drink."
Hugh, glad to avail himself of the invitation, mincingly mounted the
steps, and sank gratefully into the easiest chair, the other two
likewise seating themselves.
Paul, disappearing for a few moments, quickly returned, followed by a
servant bearing a tray, containing various sparkling liquids in
multifarious bottles. Over this good and cooling cheer conversation
soon became easy and natural, Teddie becoming so much himself as to
refer energetically to stand-up collars as a "rotten invention."
"Look here, Charteris," he said, "perhaps, as you are alone, you won't
mind my taking it off for a bit," and he proceeded to unfasten the
offending piece of starched linen, in accordance with his host's warmly
expressed advice, while Hugh surreptitiously slipped his poor tortured
toes from their natural quarters into the main body of the shoe.
"You don't object to a pipe, Charteris?" Gerald inquired, producing from
his pocket a well-worn briar-root, and, on Paul's assurance that he
often enjoyed one himself, Hugh and Teddie quickly produced two others
for his edification.
"Hazel received an invitation last night to spend a week with the
Travers," Gerald announced conversationally, when all four were
luxuriously smoking. "She is rather bothered about it; she does not
care to leave the mater for so long."
"She could cut the visit short," Paul said, not unwilling to suggest so
pleasing a solution of the difficulty. "How--er--how would your sister
go?" he added, prefiguring himself and Hazel taking the long drive
together in his dogcart, through the beautiful countryside.
But Gerald's reply quickly extinguished any such day-dream. "Oh, young
Travers would fetch her in the trap; that is easy enough," he said
carelessly.
"Is that Digby?" Paul asked quickly.
"Yes," Gerald replied, "he is desperately gone on Hazel--makes an awful
idiot of himself."
"How old is he?" Paul asked curtly.
"About two- or three-and-twenty," Teddie broke in. "He is a decent
fellow enough if only he would not sing."
Paul's innate delicacy would not permit him to ask that which he longed
to know: whether or not that brown-eyed child, Hazel, reciprocated the
feeling of the importunate Travers. However, Hugh soon relieved him on
that score.
"Of course, Hazel does not guess what he is up to," he said, somewhat
scornfully, in no wise trying to hide his contempt of the laboriously
arranged and clumsily carried out tactics of young Travers. "How should
she? None of us are likely to open her eyes. He only succeeds in
boring her fearfully; she keeps out of his way whenever she can."
Paul was conscious of a sudden interest, almost amounting to a liking,
for the luckless young man. "What sort of a fellow is he to look at?" he
asked, readjusting his tie with some complacency.
"Oh, well enough," Hugh returned, to which somewhat vague description
Paul's other guests grunted agreement.
"Greeky," Hugh went on, for his host's better understanding, and the
subject was dropped, this graphic portraiture being deemed so eminently
exhaustive that Charteris must be criticising a vivid mental picture of
young Travers, the while he reclined with half-closed eyes, puffing
lazily at his cigar.
"By the way," Paul began presently, turning to Hugh, "has Mrs. Le
Mesurier spoken to you of the idea we formed?--just a suggestion, you
know; you must, of course, feel at perfect liberty to--er----"
"Yes, thanks, awfully," Hugh replied suavely. "I'll turn up to-morrow.
Nine o'clock suit--nine to four?"
For a moment Paul was staggered by such prompt acceptance of the post
and subsequent arrangement of detail. "I think ten would suit me
better," he said, a trifle apologetic. "I like to go in for various
modes of exercise for a couple of hours before beginning work."
"All the same to me," Hugh returned airily. "Ten to five, then?"
"What do you say to having no fixed hour for leaving?" Paul suggested.
"Just turn up at ten every day, and we can see what work there is to do,
and do it. You will as often as not get through in an hour or two."
"That will just suit me," Hugh declared frankly. "And the salary?"
"Well," Paul said, with hesitancy, "a hundred a year would--er----"
"Phew," whistled Teddie, resorting to his bescented handkerchief; "and
to think how I have to slave for a miserable forty!"
"But then, look how distasteful any kind of clerical work is to me,"
Hugh said ingenuously, gently expostulating with the unreasonable
Teddie. "Even one hour is very real hard work to me; whereas Gerald,
here, positively likes such business. If you look at things in their
right proportions, you will find that I could hardly be overpaid,
whatever you gave me."
Teddie did not look convinced by his brother's argument, and Paul, half
amused, half dismayed at the outspoken candour of his secretary-elect,
could not but determine that, whatever it was that filled the fair,
curly head, diplomacy did not number among the gifts of Hugh Le
Mesurier.
When, after some further talk, the young men rose to take their leave,
Paul insisted upon accompanying his guests on at least part of their
homeward way. Friendly relations were now so far established between the
houses of Earnscleugh and Hazelhurst, that Teddie strolled with easy
grace across the lawn, carrying the obnoxious collar in his hand, ever
and anon waving it airily in gesticulation in the course of his
conversation with Paul and Gerald; whilst Hugh modestly brought up the
rear, stepping gingerly in bright red socks, bearing around his neck the
plaintive shoes, slung together by their laces.
Hazel, meanwhile, who had walked with her brothers to the verge of the
estate, had settled herself cosily upon the carpet of moss with a book,
to await their return. Curiously enough, a desire to accompany them
never entered the girl's mind, though it had ever been her habit to join
her brothers in their excursions. Vivian Charteris had been well
accustomed to the sight of Hazel's little figure among the tall and
lanky forms of the Le Mesurier boys. Indeed, he would have sorely
missed the bright and gentle girl, whom he had known intimately from
babyhood, and for whom he entertained a brother's regard. He had
gloried in the Le Mesurier lungs--more especially when voiced by the
silvery tones of his little, brown-eyed favourite--echoing through his
domain or about his house. But Vivian was Vivian, the grave and serious
student, sixteen or seventeen years older than herself. Now, a quite
unconscious reticence seemed to withhold the girl, to forbid the old
childish freedom. Paul was almost a stranger to her: for, during the
earliest years of her childhood, he had only spent at Earnscleugh the
brief holidays of the long school-terms. At the age of eighteen he had
entered upon his college career, visiting either his home or travelling
abroad in the vacations; finally quitting England when Hazel had
attained to her tenth year. So that, while familiar with his name, of
the actual Paul the girl knew little.
Hazel sprang to her feet as her quick ear caught the sounds of footsteps
approaching from the direction of Earnscleugh. Perching herself upon
the fence, she peered eagerly down the little, twisting, shady pathway
that she well knew led most directly to the house, presently perceiving
Teddie's loose and angular form, looking somewhat neglige about the
neck, while his collar encircled the crown of his straw hat. Gerald
next made his appearance round the bend, the narrow ways being of
necessity traversed in Indian-file order.
"Was Charteris at home?" Hazel called, with all the vaunted strength of
the Le Mesurier lungs, poised upon the topmost rung, balancing her lithe
body, hands on hip.
"He is here," Teddie called back, and, too late, Hazel discovered the
figure of Paul, following close upon Gerald, whilst Hugh still brought
up the rear in besocked feet.
Hazel precipitately dismounted from her lofty stand, her sensitive
little face growing pale with dismay at what she deemed her unmannerly
way of dispensing with the formality of the usual prefix of "Mr.,"
which, however, Paul thoroughly understood: not as a rude peculiarity in
the girl herself--little aristocrat that she was to her finger-tips--but
as natural in the circumstance of that girl possessing five brothers.
There was the bare possibility in Hazel's mind that her words had not
caught Paul's ear, or, being audible to him, that the omission had not
been remarked. With this faint hope to buoy her, she held out her hand
to meet Paul's over the fence, the while with flushed countenance she
lifted her eyes, half shy, half anxious, and endeavoured to read the
handsome face the merry eyes, that seemed laughingly to defy her
scrutiny, whether consciously or unconsciously she could not determine.
As a matter of fact Paul was perfectly aware of her embarrassment and
its cause, and was much amused. He was bent upon keeping her in a state
of uncertainty, however, and merely commented upon the beauty of the
day, which mischievous spirit was hardly in accordance with the young
man's usual attitude towards her.
With a demure response Hazel moved a little away, soon becoming
interested in a cluster of flowers at her feet, Shepherd's Eye, that
seemed to gaze up at her in blue wonder and sympathy. She proceeded to
pluck the small, starlike blossoms, her brothers and Paul meanwhile
sitting upon or leaning against the mossgrown boundary fence, in several
and varied poses of ease and comfort, engaging languidly in such broken
and disjointed conversation as befitted the heat of the noonday.
"What is the name of that little flower?" Paul's voice broke in upon
Hazel's musing. He had followed her unawares, and made as if to take
one tiny blue star from her bunch.
But Hazel pressed upon him the whole miniature posy, in frank
generosity.
"Take them all," she said. "Are they not sweet? They are called
Shepherd's Eye--they grow mostly over there, in the meadow."
"Shepherd's Eye!" Paul said, gratefully accepting the gift. "But here
are red ones, exactly like the blue."
"I call them Sad Shepherd's Eye," she returned. "They are eyes that must
have been weeping bitterly for hours. I only care for the happy, blue
ones."
"They are prettiest, certainly," Paul rejoined; "but I should like one
or two of the red ones, to remind me of your pretty fancy. Let me
gather them; you will make yourself hot and tired."
But Hazel disclaimed all fatigue, and was presently tying together some
of the tiny red blossoms with a wisp of tough grass.
"When are you two coming?" Gerald called. "I say, Charteris, come along
home to lunch. The mater will be glad to see you."
Paul looked at Hazel. "May I?" he asked diffidently. "Mrs. Le Mesurier
may----."
"Mother says that the house is always open to you," the girl replied in
her gracious little way.
Having completed her task, she gave the flowers into Paul's eager
keeping, and proceeded to lead the way through the shady tracks of
Hazelhurst wood, her brothers affecting to breathe again as they safely
went by the great oak-tree with Hazel still in their midst; albeit she
had cast a lingering look up into its leafy shade, in passing.
As the significance of the long-drawn sighs caught Hazel's
understanding, she faced them swiftly, and still keeping step with the
four, danced along backwards, the better to explain away their
groundless fears.
Paul thought he had never seen anything so pretty.
"I never climb trees when I am wearing my white dress," she said
remonstrantly. "It is the one thing that makes Mrs. Doidge really
cross. She says it takes Mattie two hours, every time, to get it up."
And Hazel looked down at her simple muslin frock with some pride, in
that it should prove to be so important a factor in the weekly routine
of domestic labour. Having duly impressed her hearers, the girl faced
about and continued the unbroken march in silence, with pretty, swinging
motion, all her own.
Presently the booming of a gong came to them on the still air.
"By the way," Gerald said, of a sudden oppressed with his quick
transition from guest to host, "you will forgive any shortcomings in the
meal, won't you, Charteris? It is of no use attempting to disguise the
fact that we are living--well, extremely simply, just now."
"You will be all right, Charteris," Teddie chimed in comfortably. "You
are fed by old Miles on roast mutton and rice pudding with such a
tremendous amount of ceremony that you are quite deceived into thinking
you are in for a royal feast. And, after all, you can always eat up
your own dainties when you get back to your place."
"Talking of Miles's impressive ways," Hugh said presently, "the mater
had to speak to him once--he was actually serving cabbage round as a
separate course, as if it were asparagus or artichokes. Oh, and by the
way," he added, "I should advise you not to accept the coloured fluid he
offers. No one knows what it is."
Thus warned at all points, the guest was ushered into the presence of
Mrs. Le Mesurier. The party soon adjourned to the dining-room, where
the fare, if simple, was most excellently cooked and daintily served,
and Paul found the refined simplicity very much to his taste, vowing
within himself that, with all his wealth, he would for the future
practise such simplicity himself: in truth, he was inclined to think the
thing could not be overdone. The trouble would be to make his
housekeeper and butler view the case in like light--people of their
class thought so much of pomp and show. Oh, well, let them be, but he
would have his own way when entertaining company.
He did not recall Hugh's caution with regard to the wine--whether to the
butler's dismay or gratification would be hard to conjecture. Certain
it was that the guest was the observed of Miles, with no small amount of
interest furtively bestowed, and some palpable apprehension, as he first
sipped the beverage.
Something in the flavour of the vintage rendered Paul reflective, or
mayhap brought to mind Hugh's words. For a few moments his countenance
was somewhat blank of expression, then, with a slight gasp, he
heroically raised the glass to his lips and drained its contents. The
next minute the old serving-man was beside him, eager, tremulous, with
the fateful decanter poised for discharging.
Paul's fortitude gave way. "No more, thank you, Miles," he murmured
hurriedly. "I must not take more than one glass," he added
confidentially, eyeing the decanter with solemn conviction; "that is a
full-bodied wine."
"Yes, sir," returned the delighted Miles, "and between you and me, sir,
it is not what you would call an expensive wine, either. My mistress
has better in the cellar, but I had not time to get it up," he murmured
in pseudo-apology, for he deemed the vintage good enough as a luncheon
beverage for any gentleman, old or young.
Paul nodded response, and asked for water.
The meal proceeded merrily enough when the boys had ceased to choke over
the incident of the wine. Happily they were eating fish, so that Miles
was in blissful ignorance as to the real cause of their unwonted
distress, sternly rebuking his fellow-servants for the careless way in
which the food had been prepared as he sat, half an hour later, at his
own dinner in the servants' hall.
*CHAPTER VI*
After luncheon the party adjourned to the woods, Helen promising the
young people that she would join them later, and suggesting that tea
should be served in the open air at four o'clock.
The Le Mesurier boys composed themselves to rest during the heat of the
early afternoon, and ranged themselves each according to his idea of
comfort. They chose the spot where Hazel was wont to hold her court of
feathery and furry subjects; for, while the trees were sufficiently
thick to afford a bountiful shade, there was a commodity of space in
which to stretch long limbs, besides the pleasing circumstance that the
carpet of last year's leaves was soft and springy, whilst the spicy
odour of fir-cones and pine-needles proved grateful to the nostril and
conducive to slumber.
Paul Charteris felt no desire to follow their example; probably Hazel
would settle herself at too great a distance, and become lost in her
book. Neither did he wish to close his eyes, for the real was even more
charming than the imaginary Hazel. So, marking that she, too, seemed in
no wise disposed for idleness--for she was flitting hither and thither
among the trees in restless but evident enjoyment, plucking a flower,
cooing to a wood-pigeon, extricating with deft tenderness two creeping
plants one from the other, giving to each a fresh start in its race upon
the tree-trunk to which they clung--he begged to be taken to the old
oak-tree, the wood-nymph's home, to have its many beauties expounded to
him. Accordingly the two, unnoticed by the napping Le Mesurier boys,
set forth at so goodly a pace that at length Paul cried out in
remonstrance, fearful lest such business-like locomotion should see them
back to the starting-point within the space of a few minutes.
"Are you so hot?" Hazel asked pitifully. "How thoughtless of me! But I
am quite cool--feel," and, craning her slender neck towards him, she
tilted her head, that he might the more readily touch her soft cheek and
thereby prove the truth of her assertion.
And Paul, nothing loth, delicately stroked the pink cheek once down to
the pretty chin; nor durst he linger in the delicious contact, for the
girl's spontaneity, bespeaking as it did liking for and trust in
himself, however unconsciously bestowed, was as sweet as it was precious
to the young man, and woe be to him if word or action of his should
startle her voluntary friendship, should cause her to shrink within
herself, away from him. Unspeakable happiness might one day be his, if
he possessed his soul in patience, and fostered the pretty trust that
might daily, all unknowingly, draw nearer, cling closer, till time
should ripen friendship into a sweet consciousness, and he might pluck
the beauteous flower and wear it for all eternity within his breast. In
the meantime he would gratefully, thankfully, sun himself in her esteem.
"Beautifully cool," he murmured slowly. "But do not blame yourself," he
went on. "I am not uncomfortably warm--only--it is rather a nice little
walk--that is to say, I do not often have you to myself; I don't want to
get back too soon."
"You find it companionable, just we two by ourselves," Hazel said
ingenuously, by way of making explanation to the young man of his own
hardly comprehended reasons for enjoyment.
"Yes," Paul said demurely, "I find it companionable."
"Thank you," Hazel returned politely. "I like it, too; though I am
never happier than when I have all the five boys roaming about with me,"
she added, with blunt but perfect truth. "I suppose you don't remember
much of Cecil and Guy?"
"I remember them perfectly," Paul averred. "Is it long since you saw
them?"
"We have not seen Cecil for years--India is so far," she answered with a
little sigh; "but Guy comes to Hazelhurst now and again for a day or
two, once in two months or so. He is due now," she continued,
"overdue--not having been here for nine weeks. It would be very
convenient if he came just now--for money, you know. He always gives me
money--generally two or three pounds--once as many as five. You see,"
she added, "I shall be obliged to spend that eightpence to-morrow."
"At what hour do you intend to--er--to go shopping?" Paul inquired
eagerly. "I was wondering whether I might escort you, and help you to
carry the--the parcels, you know."
Hazel laughed merrily. "Eightpence will only just buy a couple of
peaches," she explained. "Perhaps only one, if they have gone back to
sixpence each; and the fruiterer never lets me carry even that. He
sends a man and a cart all this way, with it or them in a basket."
"But if I were with you," he protested, with much earnestness, "he would
let me take it."
"I doubt it," Hazel said, still dimpling, "unless you disguised yourself
beforehand. This is the tree," she broke off. "Come here--stand just
so--now look up: that great fork, as you see, forms a broad, comfortable
seat, the main trunk being its back. It is my house-place; the only
really commodious apartment; and either of the great branches
constitutes a couch, though the one on the left is the more comfortable.
Higher up--stand a little more so--there are some snug little retreats,
though I rarely sit there, as they are only the attics. I go up
occasionally to see that no horrible spider is lurking about, but not to
stay; for they are rather cramped and, as you see, in places the roof
leaks and the shade is rather glaring. So I just get through my
household duties as quickly as possible with that twig brush that you
can see hanging against the trunk in the house-place, and come down
again to my comfortable chair or couch to think or read. On Sundays I
hold church to myself there."
"It is delightful, delicious," Paul averred, twisting and craning his
neck in all the directions she indicated. "It is--it is heavenly. And
the leaves are so thick as to give good shelter, even in hard rain," he
added. "Do you ever receive visitors--other, I mean, than your pet birds
and squirrels?"
"Hugh and Teddie come sometimes," she replied. "They sprawl along the
two couches, while I take the chair. That is very nice, and perfectly
comfortable, but once or twice they have all five wanted to come--so
that three of them had to sit in the attics. Now, you see, even if they
can manage to settle themselves fairly comfortably, it spoils the ease
of those below to have them sitting up there, as their legs get rather
in the way, swinging right down into the house-place, you know; for
there are no couches in the attics, only broken-down chairs, so to say."
"The chair in the house-place looks wide enough for two," Paul observed
consideringly.
"Ye--es," Hazel rejoined dubiously, "but it is not: the fork cramps
you."
As the two sauntered back to the spot where the Le Mesurier boys had
seemingly encamped for the remainder of the day, Mrs. Le Mesurier was
entertaining a guest at Hazelhurst in the person of Mr. Hamilton,
Teddie's late employer.
"I hope, madam, that in giving myself the pleasure of calling upon you,
I have not taken too great a liberty," the courtly, elderly gentleman
was saying. "My excuse must be my great liking for that young--that boy
of yours, whom I am very eager to see re-established in my office, in
pursuance of his former duties there."
"But, my dear sir," Helen interposed, cautioningly, "do you think it
wise? That young man, who is, as I understand from my son, nicknamed
Carrots----"